Going with Gravity

by Masters, Cate

  Anger fueled her. Anger at herself, for not doing this sooner. “Shutup, Michelle! You can’t talk to people like they’re dirt. You’re not God, you know. I quit.”

  “Don’t expect to be paid for this trip.”

  “I have a long list of unpaid expenses, including this trip. My attorney will be in touch.”

  “You can’t do this to—”

  “And Wes Hamilton has one hundred times the brains you have!” She switched the phone off, and then powered it down.

  Trembling, she walked to the balcony.

  The surrounding hotels glowed with lights from top to bottom. The small glimpse of ocean afforded her a view of the rising moon, its rays undulating toward her across the waves.

  All this time, she’d operated under Michelle’s dictator-like domination, but no longer. The thought buoyed her. Gravity was no longer against her.

  She could breathe again.

  ***

  The funeral home looked like someone’s house, set low with wide windows and lush foliage landscaping.

  Inside, a crowd of mostly older people shuffled along a line where Wes stood with another man about Wes’ age, shaking hands with the passing men and hugging the women.

  Photos of Eva Hamilton Campbell graced poster boards, and a laptop showed a photo slideshow. Young Eva in black and white at her wedding. Holding a baby; sitting with another baby with a young boy at her side. In the surf, holding the young boy’s hands, twirling him above a wave. With two teenage boys and their surfboards.

  No wonder Wes loved surfing. It came second nature to him, part of his home life.

  She held back, not wanting to interrupt him while others paid their respects. These people knew his mother, had fond memories to share. Her presence here might have the opposite effect of what she intended – to comfort him.

  The room opened onto a paved patio with a low stone wall. In the center of the patio, five koi darted beneath water lilies in a raised circular stone pond.

  She took a seat on the wall to wait for a lull. A quick visit, and she’d leave.

  For where? Home? She had some money put away for emergencies, enough to last almost a year.

  Not used to having nothing to do, she felt tense just sitting. Especially with Wes in the next room. She touched the huge petals of a hibiscus flower along the outside of the patio wall so she wouldn’t peer inside, searching him out.

  At the sound of footfalls, she turned.

  Wes stood there, in shorts – always in shorts. His mouth set in a hard line, his body rigid, as if poised for escape. “Hey.”

  His gravelly voice sounded weary.

  Her heart fluttered against her ribs. “Hey. I’m so sorry about your mom. I had no idea she was so ill.”

  He cocked his head back. “I didn’t tell you.”

  “Right. I saw the obituary in the newspaper and…” He wasn’t going to make this easy for her. His cold attitude probably meant he wanted her gone. She lifted her chin. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.” She stood to leave.

  His words checked her.

  “You’re not intruding. My mom would have liked it that you came.”

  She didn’t know how to respond to that. “She was beautiful.”

  “Yes, she was.” His tone was soft and low, but his eyes burned into hers.

  An urge to escape overtook her. Keep it impersonal. Then leave. “From the size of the crowd, she seemed to have a lot of friends.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “She had more. A lot of them already passed away.”

  She clutched her purse, cast her eyes across the patio. “Well. I won’t keep you any longer.” With no other exit, she walked toward the home. Toward him.

  He angled toward her as she passed. “I suppose you have a busy schedule.”

  She stopped. Too close to think clearly. “No. I’m free today.”

  “Then stay. We’re almost done here.” His face hard, she noticed the puffiness around his eyes, underscored with dark circles. Even exhausted, he looked ruggedly gorgeous.

  If only she could wrap him in her embrace, comfort him somehow. “All right.”

  “Come in, I’ll introduce you to my brother Tom.”

  When he turned without reaching for her hand, she ached with disappointment.

  After a perfunctory hello, Tom turned to Wes. “I’m taking off. Except for old man Garber, the place is cleared out. Time’s up.” He nodded to the old man slumped in a seat closest to the closed coffin, dabbing his eyes.

  Wes touched his brother’s arm. “I’ll break it to him.” He walked to the man, sat next to him and rubbed his shoulder. The man nodded and wobbled to a stand. Wes took his arm and walked outside with him.

  To fill the silence, Allison asked, “Is Mr. Garber a relative or old friend?”

  Tom’s cold glare swept over her. “Nice meeting you.”

  His abruptness felt like a slap. He was halfway to the door when she said, “You, too.”

  Alone, she went back to the photo board to see if it held any clues. No one in the pictures resembled Mr. Garber, young or old.

  Wes strode back in. “Sorry about that.”

  “No need to be sorry. I think I upset your brother when I asked about Mr. Garber.”

  He ducked his head. “Tom’s an ass. He hated Garber.”

  “Poor Mr. Garber looked devastated.”

  “The old man loved Mom.” His gaze swept across Allison’s face, as if he’d forgotten her already, then he looked toward the lobby. “I need to speak with the funeral director. Be right back.”

  After two steps, he turned. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  She shook her head. Her nerves tightened with excitement and nervousness. Maybe he wanted to yell at her, too, but not here.

  His hands on the door jamb, he leaned into the office next to the entrance. He spoke briefly with the director and then stopped at the open casket and touched his mother’s arm. Approaching her, keys in hand, he asked, “All set?”

  Without waiting for her response, he strode to the door and opened it. “Thanks again,” he called to the director.

  The only vehicle remaining in the parking lot looked like a cross between a beat-up golf cart and a dune buggy. He jumped in the driver’s seat. “I’m glad I didn’t ride my bike today.”

  When he smiled at her, all hesitation disappeared.

  She climbed in. “This is an interesting vehicle.”

  “It’s electric. We try not to use gas here. Too expensive.” He released the brake and backed out of the parking spot.

  They rumbled down a bumpy path onto a side street, following it for a few miles along the oceanfront. Sunlight dazzled the ocean to a crystalline blue shot through with sparkling light.

  “It’s so beautiful here.” And felt so wonderful to share the view with him.

  “Yeah. Nowhere else like it.” He parked the vehicle at the side of a stone house with windows inlaid like wide jewels, reflecting the greens, yellows and reds of the surrounding ferns and flowers. The bordering palm trees and other foliage ensured privacy.

  She followed him inside. Rooms expanded openly and easily with one another – the family room bordered by the kitchen and dining room, and french doors to the outside.

  He walked to the fridge. “Water?”

  “No thanks.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, unsure whether to stand or sit. She had no idea how long she’d be there.

  He leaned across the kitchen island. “Would you like to stay for dinner? Our neighbors dropped by with tons of casseroles and fruit baskets. I’m sure I could put together something edible.”

  Out of habit, she glanced at her watch.

  His voice was weighted with disappointment. “You have other commitments.”

  “No, actually. I’m free all day. I just…” She ducked her head, uncertain how to apologize.

  He heaved a breath. “If you’d rather not, I can drive you to your hotel.”

  She blurted, “
It’s not that.”

  “Then what?” Urgency edged his weary tone, though he scowled.

  She forced herself to face him. Face his wrath, if that’s what it took. “I feel terrible about the way I treated you. I’m very sorry.”

  He gave a short laugh, empty of humor. “Yeah. You didn’t even give me a chance to argue.”

  She went to the kitchen island, set her purse on it. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I was afraid to believe in you.”

  He set his hands on his hips. “I was so angry with you.”

  And still appeared to be.

  She clutched the countertop separating them. “You had every right. I was stubborn and stupid. This business I’m in, it’s jaded me.” She squared her shoulders. He might as well know. “That’s why I quit.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You quit?”

  “Last night. Michelle screamed at me, drunk out of her skull, while she was at some party. She kept calling you ‘surfer boy’ and insulting you.”

  He rounded the corner. “So you quit.”

  “Yes. I told her she wasn’t God, and couldn’t treat people like dirt.”

  He stared at the floor between them, as if considering whether to close the gap.

  “She did do me a favor, though.” She touched the opposite side of the chair he leaned against.

  “What’s that.” It sounded less a question than a challenge.

  Her mouth suddenly dry, she swallowed any reserve. She had to know: was he just using her? “If it weren’t for her, I’d never have known it was some teenager on the plane that photographed us coming out of the rest room. The article made it sound as if you said it.” And that would have made him too much like Michelle.

  He pressed his lips together and looked out the window. “If you had listened to me…”

  “I know. I’m so sorry.” The gap, apparently, was too large. For either of them. “Well. I should go.” She took her purse from the counter.

  “Allison.”

  His deep voice reached inside her. Instinctively, she turned.

  He hadn’t moved. In a softer tone, he said, “I have a bottle of wine I’ve been saving. I’d open it, if I had someone to share it with.”

  She scuffed her shoe on the tile. “What kind of wine?”

  A sparkle lit his eyes, something akin to a smile. “Sangria.”

  She stepped closer. If some distance had come between them, it was up to her to bridge the last gap. “I didn’t get to have much of the carafe the other night.” Maybe tonight she could manage to stay awake.

  He slid the strap of her handbag from her shoulder, and set it back on the counter. “My bottle is a better year. You should taste it.”

  “I’d love to.” She laid her hand atop his. He twisted his hand to grab hers, and pulled her close, buried his face in her shoulder with a deep sigh.

  The very scent of him reassured her. She closed her eyes, and stroked his hair. Holding him felt so right, like coming home. His touch melted away her fears.

  After a minute, he pulled away, bleary-eyed. “I’ll open that bottle.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  He jerked his thumb toward the fridge as he headed toward the basement. “See what looks good in there. Anything microwavable is fine by me.”

  The first container held an unrecognizable dish, but the second looked and smelled appetizing enough – pork, vegetables and rice. She scooped a few spoonfuls onto two plates, microwaved them and garnished them with pineapple slices.

  He came up behind her, looked over her shoulder as she set them on the island countertop. “Not bad.” He took two glasses from the cabinet. “But let’s eat outside.”

  She grabbed two forks from the dish drainer and followed him through the family room and the french doors. The flagstone patio overlooked the beach atop a steep hill.

  The sunset stopped her in her tracks – burnished orange and gold blazing at the edge of the sea. “Wow.”

  He plopped into a cushioned metal chair. “Yeah. I come out here every morning, and the waves call to me. Kayani. A beacon. I can’t resist.”

  She set his plate and fork on the table in front of him. “So you follow the call.”

  “Ever since I was three.” His voice sounded faraway, lost in memories.

  “Three? That’s amazing.” The pictures at the funeral home had shown Wes surfing, but not that young.

  “My stepdad took me out on a board for the first time. By the time I was eight, I was outsurfing him. I had to beat him. I spent my whole life trying to beat him.”

  “You did. I read about it – on the Internet.” She sat back, watching him as she sipped the sangria.

  “Maybe.” He rested his hands behind his head and looked out over the ocean. “There are so many different ways to describe the sea in Hawaiian.” He recited the names as if in a trance. “A strong sea is kai ko’o or kai nu’u. A rough sea is kai pupule or kai akua. A dark blue sea is moana uli.” Dull and lifeless earlier, his eyes sparkled as he looked at her. “A whispering sea is kai hawanawana. The place where the sea meets the land is ‘ae kai.” He sighed, drained his glass and poured more into her glass, then his.

  “That’s beautiful.” And surprising he’d take an interest in the islands’ original language. Another facet to him she hadn’t suspected. It made her want to uncover everything about him.

  He watched her as he drank. “What are you going to do now?”

  It took her a moment to realize his question didn’t relate to the immediate future. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to weigh my options.” First, she had to know what options existed.

  He nodded.

  She leaned her elbows on the table. “What about you?”

  Running his hand roughly through his hair, he closed his eyes for a moment. “I think I’m about to crash. I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

  “I’ll bet.” She stacked his plate on hers and stood. “I’ll clean up, and call a cab.You go rest.”

  “No.” Still slumped in his seat, he reached for her hand. “I hoped you might stay.”

  She watched his face, how his eyes softened when he said it, how sadness seemed to engulf him. Staying might make it worse for him.

  He lay his other hand atop hers. “Please. Just stay, nothing more.”

  The look on his face told her she didn’t need to ask if he was sure.

  “All right.”

  Holding her hand, he stood and tugged her toward the house. “Leave that.”

  He led her past the kitchen and family room to the end of the hallway and pushed open the door. “It’s kind of messy, sorry.”

  Below a wall of windows, a king-sized bed dominated the room. Surfing posters hung on the closet door.

  “Was this your room?”

  “Yeah. Mom never changed it after I moved out.” He flopped on the bed, closed his eyes and groaned. He looked so peaceful. Angelic, almost.

  After reading the articles online, she understood his comment the other day about being the opposite. A wild child, he’d lived to the extreme in every aspect - sports, dating… who knew what else.

  He opened his eyes and leaned up on his elbows. His eyes slid down her ruffly blouse and split skirt, the same clothes she’d worn to the tourism authority. He jumped to his feet and rummaged through the bureau drawers, tossing clothes onto the bed. “If you’d like some more comfortable clothes, here’s a tank top and some shorts. I’ll wear some, too. Tonight.” He grinned.

  He unbuttoned his shirt and threw it on the floor. “Well, don’t be shy.”

  He undid her buttons and slipped it from her. “I’ll hang this up for you.”

  Resisting the urge to turn her back, she unhooked her bra and slid the tank top over her head.

  He flopped on the bed. “If you need any more help, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “I think I can manage the rest, thanks.” Stepping out of her skirt, she quickly stepped into the shorts, then reached for a hanger. Seeing her shirt hanging in his cl
oset sent a funny buzz through her stomach.

  Analyzing the situation would only make her run from it. Don’t think. Just be. For now.

  Scooting onto the pillows, he patted the bed.

  She climbed on and he scooped his arm around her, closing his eyes. She nestled next to him, letting the moment wash over her: the warm breeze against her skin, the sound of the surf spreading its foam against the shore like a lacy-edged blanket.

  So different from the night sounds of New York – honking horns, speeding taxis, people – always people everywhere. Time had a clarity here it lacked in the city. Moments anchored within themselves, not rushed forward to the next and the next.

  What came next, she couldn’t guess, and didn’t want to try. For tonight, the warmth of Wes’ body next to hers was enough.

  ***

  The morning dawned grey, the sky reaching low across the waves. Allison awoke alone.

  She found Wes standing at the edge of the patio, looking out over the sea.

  Rubbing her arms, she stood next to him. “Hey. No surfing today?”

  He smiled absently. “I have to be in town at nine. If I went out there, I’d be late. Very late. Anyway, a storm’s coming.”

  She wanted to touch his back, slip her arms around his waist. An awkwardness still hung in the air. “I’ll catch a ride back to the hotel with you, then.”

  He narrowed his eyes, studying her. “Leaving so soon.”

  His comment – it hadn’t even been a question – threw her off guard. Had he expected her to stay? His invitation last night hadn’t seemed open-ended.

  “My flight’s tomorrow. I have a few things at the hotel I need to get.” She sounded so lame. It would take all of five minutes to gather her things, and her flight didn’t leave until the next morning. Her laptop was there. The Blackberry. Her new bathing suit. The extent of her current life. What was she going back to? Her apartment lease expired next month.

  “I need a shower.” He strode toward the french doors. “Coffee’s brewing. Help yourself.” He disappeared inside before she could reply.

  With no clue as to how she’d managed to upset him, she blew out a long breath. The breeze caught her hair. A raindrop landed on her forehead. She padded back to the house, and by the time she poured a cup of coffee, rain fell like a full-on monsoon. From the kitchen window, she watched rainwater fall in sheets, blown sideways by the wind.